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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805658">Just Stay Right Here</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofspecificstore/pseuds/kindofspecificstore'>kindofspecificstore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Falsettos References, M/M, One Shot, Patrick Brewer Loves Musicals, Post-Canon, Queer Feelings, brief mentions of queer history, it's really just a warm hug and a handful of oreo cookies, would we call it a songfic?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:20:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofspecificstore/pseuds/kindofspecificstore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick hears the Falsettos soundtrack for the first time and has A Lot of Feelings, so David decides they'll watch it together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Just Stay Right Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/gifts">fishyspots</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sometimes you have multiple WIPs on the go, then you and your friend start talking about how it's impossible to listen/watch Falsettos without crying, and this is what happens. </p><p>Song &amp; fic title comes from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKX2hKjRJ5E&gt;Unlikely%20Lover&lt;/a&gt;%20from%20the%20musical%20&lt;a%20href=">Falsettos</a>. I've made inferences to the plot without fully summarizing, but essentially Marvin leaves his family to be with his lover Wizzer, who in the end dies of HIV/AIDs. </p><p>This fic was partially inspired by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreHuman/pseuds/MoreHuman">MoreHuman</a>'s <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384562%5D">It's Harder, When You're Older, To Begin
</a> (spot the easter egg if you've read it!)</p><p>Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a drizzly early evening, and David is curled up on the couch with cookies and tea. Patrick’s personal rule is to always have a cozy mug of tea when it’s raining out. (Let’s be honest, that man does not need an excuse to have tea.) David’s rule is to always have cookies in the pantry, regardless of the weather conditions. </p><p>He’s been indulging in the newest flavour of Oreo he managed to find at the grocery store (from the big one in Elm Grove, because they obviously have a better selection), while confirming the build-your-own pizza order on his phone. He hears the front door unlock. David doesn’t bother getting up from the couch- he knows Patrick will probably want to join him and kick his feet up after a day of visiting vendors and signing contract renewals. He hears the gentle creaking of the floorboards as his husband shuffles into the living room. Patrick is home and dry, with the exception of his hair. </p><p>David sets his phone down on the quilt that covers his lower half. “Hi honey,” he looks up to greet Patrick. Upon closer inspection, Patrick seems… out of sorts. His smile only goes so far, and his eyes look worn and bloodshot. “Everything okay?” He sits up, face shrinking with a small hint of worry.</p><p>Patrick opens his mouth to speak, but seems to be struggling to form sounds into syllables, and syllables into words. David gently sets the phone on the coffee table and tosses the quilt aside. He wordlessly bounds off of the couch, wrapping Patrick up in his arms.</p><p>Before his thoughts begin to spiral, he feels the low hum of Patrick’s mumbling on his neck, voice bleeding with exhaustion. “Remember last night in bed when you thrust your phone in my face and demanded I— and I quote— watch the masterclass that is Stephanie J Block in <em> Falsettos</em>?”</p><p><em> Thank god </em>this has nothing to do with today’s vendor visits. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever have Heather’s full trust again. David chuckles, rubbing circles on Patrick’s back.</p><p>“Like I said,” David’s voice teases while Patrick just squeezes him tighter. “That woman was robbed of her Tony and I will take that to my grave.” </p><p>Patrick doesn’t humour David’s sentiment. Instead, he just sniffs. “Yeah well I may have decided to listen to the soundtrack while I was out doing the rounds today.”</p><p>David stills, leaving the confession hanging. He steps back and holds his husband’s shoulders at arm’s length. “Oh my god, no!” David’s eyes widen, “Why would you put yourself through that?!” </p><p>Patrick shrugs, choosing to shove his hands in his pockets. <em> Oh no. </em> “I know. I didn’t think about what I was getting myself into and I thought nothing could be as bad as when Stevie and I saw Fun Home but—“</p><p>“But it hit you like a freight train,” David finishes for him, soft and sympathetic.</p><p>“Yes!” </p><p>David goes into automatic caretaker mode, gently ushering Patrick to the couch and wrapping him up in the quilt. He places the Oreos in Patrick’s lap and <em> pretends </em>not to notice his grimace. (No, he did not buy the 35% less sugar, and he never will.) He makes promises of the pizza that is set to arrive within the 40-minute window, and dashes for the bottle of red on the kitchen counter. Patrick slowly (and perhaps distastefully) chews an Oreo while David loads up Youtube on his laptop.</p><p>“But I <em> just </em>listened to this in the car,” Patrick mumbles, mouth still full of cookie.</p><p>“Mhm, and I <em> just listen </em>to Mariah’s catalogue of excellency,” David retorts while making the video full screen. </p><p>He pulls Patrick’s legs into his lap. The lights come up on the screen with the exuberant opening notes of <em> Four Jews in a Room Bitching. </em> They share a small smile, one of anticipation and the casual intimacy that comes with spontaneous evening plans on the couch.</p><p>As the musical progresses, David feels Patrick’s reactions from beside him. He laughs when Jason laments about commuting back and forth from his parents’ homes, he blushes whenever Wizzer and Marvin are in close proximity, but by the time they’ve hit the top of the second half and the pizza has arrived, he’s curled up with his head in David’s lap. And once they get to <em> Something Bad is Happening</em>, Patrick still hasn’t touched his food and David is running his fingers through his hair. <em> This is always the hardest part, </em>David thinks to himself. </p><p>When Patrick was cast in Cabaret, he did what Patrick Brewer does best: research mode. What started off contextualizing pre-war Berlin and the cabaret scene turned into pink triangles and Holocaust memorials, and then into the Stonewall Riots and <em> Act Up Fight Back Fight AIDS </em>. Patrick dove headfirst into the queer history he never knew existed, soaking it all up like a sponge, but everything was based in books and documentaries. </p><p>Now here he was, lying in his husband’s lap, watching a story that attached a terrible disease to an individual with a name and feelings that were translated into song. David watches Patrick sniffle and curl up at the sight of Wizzer in the hospital room, brushing away the tears that are starting to slip down his own cheeks. Then Marvin’s there, and the score melds into arguably the best quartet Broadway has ever seen, <em> Unlikely Lovers </em>. </p><p>Patrick’s ribs vibrate into David’s side as he hums along. (<em>How </em> is he doing this? How can he possibly know the melody at the back of his hand?) David looks down to him and smiles fondly, but Patrick’s eyes are glued to the screen. He even mumbles along, which is nothing short of endearing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What a group we four are </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Four unlikely lovers </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And we vow that we will </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Buy the farm arm in arm </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Four unlikely lovers </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When the last few lines hit, Patrick actually opens his mouth to match Cordelia’s high note with his own falsetto. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Who'd have thought that we four </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Would end up as lovers </em>
</p><p> </p><p>David places a hand on his husband’s head and gently reaches over him to hit the spacebar. </p><p>“Hey,” Patrick pouts and shifts onto his back so he can look up at David. “Why’d you pause?”</p><p>David brushes away more tears from his own cheeks (how is he<em> still </em>crying?). He tries to laugh, but it comes out more wet than originally intended. “I didn’t know you knew this song so well.”</p><p>Patrick bites his lips, eyes sparkling. “I may have listened to it a few times before getting out of the driveway,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. David’s face simply breaks with fondness, giving Patrick the space to keep talking if he needs. “Hey David?” Patrick asks, voice light and scratchy with emotion.</p><p>“Mhm?” David fingers wind idly through Patrick’s curls.</p><p>“We bought the damn farm,” Patrick whispers up at him, a small unabashed smile starting to peak at the corners. </p><p>David can only manage to smile and nod as more tears start to flow. He’s been reduced to a puddle, metaphorically speaking. “Although technically, it’s not a farm.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles, the back of his hand lazily hitting David in the chest. He gives a small shrug. “Still. I never knew I could have this.” He looks up at David with those buttery brown eyes, and it’s almost too much to handle. David runs a hand over the rough stubble of Patrick’s cheek, taking in all of what he’s just said. </p><p>And then, like any good husband would do in this situation, David turns to the laptop and rewinds to the beginning of what he detects might be Patrick’s new favourite song. (Definitely worthy of his repertoire for the shower.) They hold each other closer to the sound of four part harmonies and the gentle rainfall coming from outside the cottage, a beautiful still image that holds the definition of home. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Who’d have thought </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2N2Is4SOv8k">To watch Falsettos and try not to cry</a> </p><p>You can find me <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kindofspecificstore">@kindofspecificstore</a> on tumblr. As always, thanks for reading! ❤️</p></blockquote></div></div>
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